


Automatic

by elevenoclock



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019 NHL Entry Draft, Established Relationship, M/M, Multi, Non-Linear Narrative, Polyamory, Team as Family, US National Talent Development Program (USNTPD), soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 18:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19340536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elevenoclock/pseuds/elevenoclock
Summary: Their parents joke about how close they all are, how the NTDP is as tight a group as any they’ve seen. And Jack bites his lip, turns his head away so he can smile, becausethey have no idea.Jack loves his team, and they love him.





	Automatic

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction involving real people. If you found this fic by googling yourself or someone you know in real life, please hit the back button _immediately_.
> 
> Title is from one of Jack Hughes' insta post captions. 
> 
> Thanks to hllangel for the beta.

_“Are these the moments you’re going to remember?”_

_“I mean, the games are awesome, the points are great, the wins are great. But I think the biggest things are the friendships I’ll come out of here with.”_

 

***

 

The windows are thrown open in Jack’s bedroom, early summer sunlight reflecting off dust motes and a sluggish breeze making the curtains stir.

His sheets are cool beneath him, but the sun is hot and the body beside his own is even hotter.

Jack buries his face in Alex’s neck, ignores the prickle of sweat where their bodies are touching, and inhales deeply. Alex smells like hockey and like sex, like Michigan and the lake they swam in that morning, like the fancy shampoo he uses even though all the guys chirp him for it. He smells like home.

“I don’t want to lose this,” Jack whispers.

Alex hums, wraps an arm around Jack’s waist. They’re both naked, the corner of a sheet thrown over them in a lazy attempt at modesty. Modesty from what, Jack’s not sure, because Quinn is out golfing with some friends and his parents took Luke to a barbecue down the road. It’s just the two of them this afternoon, alone in the house.

“Why does everything have to change?”

It’s June. In two weeks, Jack is going to be pulling a new jersey over his head. It’s going to be either red or blue, he knows that much— colors that are as familiar to him as breathing. But it won’t be the navy blue and white that means _team_ and _friendship_ and _love_.

Alex presses a lazy kiss to Jack’s temple. “We can’t stay here forever,” he begins.

“Why not?”

It’s a childish question. Jack isn’t a child anymore… none of them are. But for one fierce, brief moment he wishes that they were, that they could be.

Alex’s laugh is little more than an exhale, hot breath against Jack’s hair. “Some things are going to change,” he continues. “But some things will never change, Jack. Some things are forever, okay?”

Jack pulls back just far enough that he can tilt his head and catch Alex’s lips in a lazy kiss. “Yeah.” He says the word into Alex’s mouth. “Okay.”

 

***

 

At the combine, someone asks Jack what his greatest strength is.

Jack opens his mouth, then pauses.

What he wants to say is, “My ability to love.” Because it’s the only possible answer, if he’s being honest. Jack loves unconditionally. He loves his parents, his dad who has always supported him and his mom who taught him how to skate as a child. He loves his brothers, his bubbie and zaydee, his aunts and uncles.

But he also loves hockey, loves it with a passion he’s never felt for anything else. He loves the feel of ice beneath his skates, the sound of a stick hitting a puck, the weight of a medal around his neck and a trophy in his hands. He loves the stink of pads and the cheap shampoo in the locker room showers.

And, most importantly, he loves his teammates. Turc, who’s as much as brother to him as Luke and Quinn. Cole and Zegs and Moyni. Their parents joke about how close they all are, how the NTDP is as tight a group as any they’ve seen. And Jack bites his lip, turns his head away so he can smile, because _they have no idea_.

Jack loves his team, and they love him.

But Jack doesn’t say any of that at the combine. They wouldn’t understand.

 

***

 

Cole has been his best friend for years, has been in his life since they were children. Jack can’t remember a time when he didn’t know Cole, or at least didn’t know _of_ him.

There is no part of Jack that isn’t intimately tied to hockey, and there is not part of Jack’s hockey that is not intimately tied to Cole Caufield.

Cole has always been small, but he’s also always been ferocious, a powerhouse with a slapshot to make grown men weep and NHL scouts salivate. Jack remembers looking over at him after their first scrimmage on a line together, two years ago now, after Cole scored a beauty of a goal off of one of Jack’s passes. Remembers thinking, _this fuckin’ kid_.

In hindsight, Jack thinks, that might be the moment he fell in love with Cole.

“God, babe, that game.”

It’s March, and it’s cold outside the car, but inside it’s muggy and perfect, windows fogged over. If Jack really listens he can hear the lake water lapping at the shore, the buzz of insects in the nighttime.

Instead he listens to Cole, to Cole’s moans and his pleas and the way his breath hitches as Jack swallows around him, feeling Cole’s cock nudge the back of his throat before he has to pull back and take a breath.

“I’m serious, Cole, that game was out of this fuckin’ world.”

Cole is stretched out in the back of the SUV, seats folded down. His skin is pale against the dark carpet, flushed a pretty shade of pink from his cheeks to his navel. He practically glows in the faint moonlight.

Jack’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“Six goals. Jesus.”

Cole gasps when Jack’s hand wraps around his length. “Jackie, c’mon, please,” he begs, back arching up as he chases the orgasm. Jack’s been keeping him on edge for almost half an hour now, sucking him down only to back off and whisper sweet words into Cole’s ears.

“Program record for all-time goals,” Jack says. The words come out as a growl, and Jack can’t help himself anymore. He bites at the soft skin of Cole’s inner thigh, then kisses over the red mark in apology. His hand speeds up on Cole’s cock, and Cole’s shouting now, voice echoing in the car. If they weren’t out at the lake, in the middle of nowhere, Jack might worry that someone would hear.

“Yeah, baby. Come for me.”

Jack puts his mouth back on Cole, sucks the head of his dick, and closes his eyes as Cole spills across his tongue. He swallows and swallows, keeps sucking until Cole is squirming beneath him, oversensitive.

He barely has a second to catch his breath before Cole yanks Jack up against him, tangles their legs together in the too-small space, kisses him hard and fast and messy. “Your turn,” he says. “All-time points record, Jack. All time best.”

He’s smiling as he talks, as he kisses. Cole is always smiling. It’s just another thing Jack loves about him.

And then Cole’s hand is pushing past the waistband of Jack’s sweats, and Jack is swearing under his breath as Cole’s hand wraps around his dick. Cole’s fingers are strength and calluses, and he knows exactly how to make Jack feel good.

They have two years of history together like this, two years of Jack passing the puck and Cole putting it in the back of the net. Two years of cellys on the ice, teammates screaming in their ears. Two years of this— tears forming at the corner of Jack’s eyes as liquid fire ignites beneath his skin, Cole’s smaller form pressed against his own.

The thought of losing this forever is unbearable. June is a lifetime away and also just around the corner.

But tonight Jack isn’t thinking about that. He’s not thinking about all the memories that came before, or all the moments to come after. In this moment he wraps himself around Cole and feels their chests rise and fall in synch, two halves of a whole.

 

***

 

The house party is Boldy’s idea, but it’s December in Michigan and there’s not a whole hell of a lot to do on a Friday night. It’s being thrown by one of the football players at their high school, whose parents are out of town.

There’s beer and music, and Jack’s teammates are there, and honestly he can’t imagine anything more perfect.

Someone has pushed all of the couches back against the walls and turned the living room into a makeshift dance floor. Jack ends up there after his second beer, lukewarm and a little flat, with Turcs pressed against his front. Jack has his arms thrown over Alex’s shoulders, and what they’re doing can only be called ‘dancing’ if he’s being generous, but it’s fun.

“You have an admirer,” Alex says. His voice is low, barely audible over the loud music, and Jack feels it more than he hears it.

Jack glances around, but nobody is paying attention to them. It’s strange, knowing they’re all professional athletes, sixteen and seventeen years old and absolutely anonymous in their small town high school. Nobody here knows who Jack Hughes is, and nobody cares.

Alex’s hands are hot on Jack’s hips as he turns them, and then—

Dark eyes meet Jack’s across the room.

Cole is curled up on the end of one of the couches, a red solo cup in hand. He’s watching Jack, and when he realizes he’s been caught out he grins. Even in the dim room his teeth are blinding white, and Jack finds himself smiling in return.

“Hot,” Cole mouths.

Jack bites his lower lip, grinds up against Alex in response. He knows what they look like: tight jeans and white sneakers, v-necks worn thin with age and sticking to their skin. He knows Alex has a mark on the back of his neck, left by Jack when they were getting dressed earlier in their shared room.

Cole just shakes his head and laughs. There’s no jealousy in his eyes. There’s never any jealousy, not between them.

Another body plasters itself against Jack’s back, big hands lacing with Alex’s on Jack’s waist.

“Coupla beauties,” a voice says, as teeth catch Jack’s earlobe.

Trevor is bigger than Alex by a few inches. Jack feels small between them. _Cherished_. He breaks eye contact with Cole and turns to face Zegs, twining one hand in his hair and letting the other rest on Trevor’s arm.

“You made it!” Jack wants to lean forward and kiss him, but they’re in public. He settles for running his hand down Trevor’s bicep, thumb tracing lines of muscle. “I thought you had to study.”

“I can study another time,” Trevor says. “Wasn’t gonna miss my chance to dance with you tonight.”

The first half of the season is over, and they have finals and Christmas ahead, but tonight— tonight is for them. Jack dances with Zegs against his chest and Turcs against his back, tipsy and too-hot and perfect.

When the dance floor gets too full, Zegs drags them both out to the back yard. It’s below freezing and nobody else is out there, even though there’s a porch space heater set up. The three of them curl up on a single lawn chair, shivering and twining together.

Alex produces a joint, lights it.

Trevor takes the first hit, inhaling until his chest is pressed against Jack’s arm, and pulls Jack forward so he can exhale the smoke into Jack’s mouth. They pass the joint around, and Jack trades lazy kisses with Trevor as the pot works its magic. Alex is hard against his ass— pot always makes him horny— but there’s no urgency to it and he takes his own turns kissing Trevor over Jack’s shoulder and slowly grinding his dick against Jack’s hip.

That’s how Cole finds them, three almost-grown men so knotted together that nobody can tell where one begins and another ends. He plucks the joint from Jack’s numb fingers, takes the final hit before tossing the butt into a snowbank.

“You guys are gonna get sick if you stay out here,” Cole says.

Jack rolls his eyes, but says, “Yes mom,” with only fondness in his voice, and lets Cole help him up from the tangle.

He turns and waits for Trevor to join him, then goes up on his toes to wrap an arm around Trevor’s neck and pull him down. “I’m glad you came out tonight, Zegs,” he says, and kisses Trevor one last time.

Trevor returns the kiss, then shoves him gently into Cole’s waiting arms. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

 

***

 

The combine is winding down. All that’s left are the interviews, but they’re just a formality. Jack knows where he’s going. Still, meeting with the Devils management is a thrill.

“Do you have any questions for us?” they ask, afterwards.

Jack doesn’t hesitate. “Do you like Moynihan?”

One of the Devils executives nods. “I like him.”

“I like him a lot, too.” Jack smiles. “I think he’s going to be a great role player.”

He shakes hands with the suits after, knows they’re watching him as he leaves the room and keeps his head high, shoulders straight.

Later that night he finds Moyni at the hotel and sucks a livid purple mark just below his collarbone as the TV plays in the background. _Mine_ , he thinks. This team, these guys… there is nothing he wouldn’t do for them.

 

***

 

It’s an honor to be invited to play at the World Juniors, to represent the United States on a national stage.

Jack is genuinely blessed, and he says as much anytime someone points a camera at his face.

It’s just.

The Team USA guys are amazing. They’re brilliant and skilled and Jack is learning _so much_ every second he’s around them. Quinn is there, too, and he gets to stand on the ice with _J. Hughes_ across his shoulders while his brother stands beside him.

But the rest of the guys are older, are already in college and committed to NHL teams of their own.

They’re not _team_. Jack says as much when he Facetimes Alex in the evenings.

“They’re not the NTDP,” Alex says, voice a little staticy as the connection lags, “but they’re still your team.”

They’re not, but Jack doesn’t know how to put that into words. They’re not his boys, his family. He likes them just fine, but he doesn’t love them.

“I miss you,” he says instead.

“I miss you too.” Alex is curled up on his bed, the familiar light gray wall of their shared bedroom visible behind him. Jack wants to reach across the distance and touch the curls that fall over his forehead.

He must look pretty pathetic, because Alex laughs, not unkindly. “Hold on, I have an idea.”

The Facetime video pauses, and he can hear the tap-tap-tap of Alex’s nails as he types something on his phone. The video resumes a minute later, followed shortly by a knock on the door.

“You might want to answer that,” Alex says.

“Turcs, what’d you do?” But Jack goes, because he’ll never say no to Alex. He crawls off the hotel bed and cracks the door open.

Spencer’s tall, lanky form fills the doorway. He pushes past Jack easily, and Jack closes the door behind him, a small smile curling around his lips as Spencer kicks off his shoes and spreads out on Jack’s bed without a single trace of hesitation.

“Hey Turcs.”

“Spence.” Alex sounds so goddamned _pleased_ with himself that Jack can’t help but laugh.

Jack lets the sound of them talking draw him back to the bed, and Spencer reaches out when he’s close enough, reels him in with one long arm until Jack is once again lying on the mattress.

“Thanks, Knighter.” Alex’s face fills the small phone screen, and he’s watching Spencer and Jack both. “You know how he gets.”

Their goalie laughs, and Jack feels the rumbles from it through his entire body. “Oh, I know. I was waiting for him to come to me, but he was being stubborn.”

“You know _he_ can hear you,” Jack points out.

They ignore him. “I’m glad you can be there for him.”

“He’s team,” Spencer says easily. “I’ll always be there for him.”

Something in Jack’s chest blossom at the words, and he sinks back into Spencer’s embrace. They both get it, get _him_ . This is the difference, Jack thinks. This is why Team USA might be his team for the next week and a half, but they’ll never be his _team_.

Spencer’s hand slides down his stomach, pushes up the hem of Jack’s t-shirt and rests against his lower stomach. All of Jack’s worries and stress drain away, and he closes his eyes as Spencer and Alex continue to chat over the call and Spencer’s hand drifts lower and lower, massaging Jack through the thin basketball shorts he’s wearing.

Jack shudders and pushes into the touch, lets out tiny gasps and moans that he’ll probably be embarrassed about later.

“He’s so responsive,” Spencer says, and there’s something like awe in his tone.

Alex makes a soft noise, and Jack distantly recognizes it as the sound Alex makes when he’s jerking himself off early in the morning. “It’s nice, isn’t it? To be able to do this for him.” There’s a sound of a drawer opening, and Jack opens his eyes in time to watch Alex dig out a bottle of lube from the bedside table. “He’s always so good to us, to his team. I like that we can give him something in return, be there when he needs us.”

 _I’ll always need you_ , Jack thinks, and then Spencer’s dexterous fingers are pulling his shorts down just far enough that his cock springs free, and all thought flees Jack’s mind.

“Alex, Alex, Turc, Spence, please,” he begs, but there’s no real urgency because he knows Spencer and Alex will get him there, trusts them to give him what he needs.

When he comes, it’s as easy as skating out on a fresh sheet of ice, as easy as scoring a goal. He’s aware of Alex coming at the same time, his moan mingling with Jack’s own.

Spencer vanishes for a second, then returns a moment later with a damp washcloth.

“You got him, Knight?” Alex asks.

“Yeah.” Spencer cleans him up, helps to get him under the sheets. “I got him.”

“Awesome.” Alex sounds as tired as Jack feels. “Hey, Jackie.” He waits until Jack cracks his eyes open again. “I miss you, and I love you, and I’ll see you soon, okay bro? Bring me home a gold medal.”

Jack manages a smile. “Love you too,” he says, and then he’s asleep, Spencer’s big body curled around his own.

 

***

 

“With the first pick overall, the New Jersey Devils are proud to select, from the U.S. Program, Jack Hughes.”

Jack smiles, wider than he thinks he’s ever smiled before.

He hugs Luke and Quinn, his parents, his bubbie who made the trip from Florida. He shakes hands, and he can’t stop grinning.

And then he’s turning, and Alex is there. He turns up the steps, away from the usher trying to guide him down to the stage, and into Alex’s arms.

“So happy for you,” Alex says into his ear. There are cameras and microphones everywhere, so even though he doesn’t say the words, Jack hears them: _I love you._

And then he’s pulling a bright red jersey over his head and smiling and smiling and inside something breaks a little because everything is changing.

 

***

 

The back hallways are filled with media and management, but Cole finds him anyways.

“Impossible to miss you,” Cole says, flinging himself into Jack’s arms. “You look like a Canadian in that jersey.”

“Fuck off,” Jack says, but he’s laughing and pulling Cole in for a hug that goes on a few seconds too long.

There’s a PA trying to bring him to yet another round of interviews, and Turcs and Zegs and Boldy and Knighter are all wandering around too. Jack needs to find them, needs to pull them close and breathe them in once last time, find their familiar scents beneath the stiff new jerseys they’re each wearing.

“I knew you could do it,” Cole says. “I’m so proud of you. _We’re_ so proud of you.”

“Proud of you, too,” Jack says. “Montreal, fuck. You’re gonna kill it up there, you know? You’re gonna show them all how incredible you are.”

Someone is clearing their throats, and Jack really needs to go, but…

“Come by my room tonight?” He whispers the question, hopes the mic on his collar doesn’t pick it up.

Cole smiles. “Of course. Now go, your adoring fans await. I need to find Zegs... someone told me he was crying over Turcotte earlier and the cameras caught it.” He rolls his eyes, but there’s love obvious if you know to look for it, and Jack does.

Alex and Trevor will be close to one another, at least. It’s a relief to Jack, to know that some of his team won’t be completely alone. And he’ll have Cam in Philly, just a short train ride away. He’ll play Cole three or four times a season, and they’ll have summers and holidays and All Star weekends stretching out into the future as far as Jack can see.

“Love you man,” he says.

Cole’s grin softens, something just for him. “Yeah, Jackie. Love you too. Always.”

Jack lets the exasperated PA lead him away, and knows that some things might change, but some things never will.

 

***

 

“Hey, Hughes.”

The voice calling his name has an accent, something faintly German. Jack turns, and is wrapped up in a hug before he can even process that Nico Hischier— _Nico Hischier_ , his brain screams— is in front of him. 

“Welcome to Jersey,” Nico says.

Over his shoulder is Taylor Hall. Jack knows him, has trained with him, but this is like meeting him for the first time all over again. And Taylor is watching them both with a look that Jack is intimately familiar with.

“We’re so glad to have you here,” Taylor says, and there’s something in his voice, an extra layer to the words that makes the knot in Jack’s chest begin to unravel. “Welcome to the team.”

**Author's Note:**

> Relevant links:
> 
> [The USNTDP draft class of 2019](https://twitter.com/USAHockeyNTDP/status/1142848462075113472)
> 
> [A Day in the Life of Jack Hughes](https://www.wxyz.com/sports/day-in-the-life-of-jack-hughes-wxyz-goes-behind-the-scenes-with-the-hockey-phenom) (ft. Caufield breaking the all-time goal record on a pass from Hughes that breaks the all-time points record)
> 
> [Hughes and Caufield splitting the puck after hitting all-time records on the same goal](https://www.instagram.com/p/BvHNfy3g0HO/)
> 
> [Hughes and Caufield as ten year olds](https://www.instagram.com/p/ByX5NqAgmRG/)
> 
> [Hughes, Caufield and Boldy wearing each other's jerseys post-draft](https://twitter.com/careypricing/status/1142956448348925952)
> 
> [Turcotte and Zegras making sure everyone knows how much they love each other](https://twitter.com/LAKings/status/1142578642540564480)
> 
> Bonus:
> 
> [The top draft prospects got to pick their "walk up" music for the draft](https://twitter.com/PaceSagester/status/1142314102301134849)
> 
> [Caufield and a dog YOU'RE WELCOME](https://www.instagram.com/p/BuHEBOEgv5R/)
> 
> [Cole Caufield getting really into carpool karaoke](https://twitter.com/eichgoal/status/1142249421322760197)


End file.
